Take Care
by fckyeahcc
Summary: If the dead were meant to stay dead, why is it that tonight, they have come back alive? Jagan, Kenlos, AU.
1. A Spy and a Son

**Take Care - Big Time Rush Fanfic by fckyeahcc**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters, the show or anything, nor is this based on any of the singers' real life. I am not responsible for you being disgusted with slash and/or homosexual pairings.

**Summary:** If the dead were meant to stay dead, why is it that tonight, they have come back alive? Jagan, Kenlos, AU.

**Author's Note:** I decided to scrap Lightweight. I feel bad being one of those people who actually start something, get so into it and then just lose a dramatic amount of interest in it that when trying to update it, it is a chore, not a hobby. So I decided to take a different turn on things and write a story that is based on my favorite video game, Resident Evil (which is property of Capcom). So enjoy.

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_**Chapter 1 – A Spy and a Son**_

– **Flashback, ****Kōbe City, Kōbe Prefecture, Japan**** – 8:09 PM August 23rd, 2000 ****–** (Logan Mitchell's POV)

CIA agent Logan Hortense Mitchell was deployed deep within central Kōbe. All those tourist photos plastered on Tumblr were lies; the city was absolutely _filthy_ and half the population was distasteful towards tourist. Logan couldn't understand what actually was being said but he was not dense, it's not hard to recognize when a wrinkly old man is speaking ignorantly of someone right in front of their faces.

Whose bright idea was it to showcase on social network sites only the decent parts of the urban jungle of Tokyo when in fact a majority of Kōbe was barely clean? He also had to wonder why he of all people was sent to Japan for surveillance and assassination work. After all, they had the best surveillance satellites within the country, next to Russian technology of course, and were there not agents already planted within Japan as well, not to mention former operatives who now have returned to the home base in America from Japan? He will never quite understand Gustavo's directing, let alone understand why of all places would the CIA and deploy him within Japan – hell, he doesn't even know an inkling of Japanese – but here he was, spying on what could possibly be the main headquarter for the Japanese mafia, the Yakuza.

"This is a setback, a terrible, unplanned, disgraceful setback but it is what it is. I must complete the mission." The short brunette moaned in a detesting fashion as he snapped the pieces of his rifle together.

Today's objective; determine if this is the base of the Yakuza and if possible, assassinate the empress of the Japanese underworld, O-Ren Īshi. O-Ren Īshi, the half-Japanese half-Chinese American who runs the Japanese underworld, supposedly has been influencing the importing of goods between Japan and America. This has been done by applying rather "unsettling" pressure onto the companies into giving a "pocket-sized" cut of profits to the gangs, the result being around 78 million yen disappearing from the Japanese government and into the hands of the gangs. The Japanese government would not be taking this, especially with the past history that the Yakuza has imposed of all of Japan. It is time action be taken.

"Old Reliable, you better do your job." Logan murmured to himself again as he took aim.

The H&K PSG1 clicked smoothly. Not a single scratch was on the small telescope as Logan took aim at the window before him. The building was medium sized. It was crafted with rusty-looking pieces of metal. It looked somewhat normal compared to the other storage houses within the port. Already he had managed to scour all over the other nearby places such as Tokyo, Numazu, Kameyama, Okazaki, Matsusaka and Ōsaka, but with minute results. Logan knew there would be no sufficient reason to check those places considering that Logan already knew that the Yakuza was well built within Kōbe but that did not stop Gustavo from directing him into doing so.

The building had Chinese characters – kanji Logan believed they were called – that did not seem recognizable compared to the other offices within the Port of Kōbe. Peculiar men were spotted clustering around this building. They donned black suits and blazers with the collars of their maroon button up shirts popped out to reveal their brutish muscular bodies underneath. Denizens often wore apprehensive or skittish expressions when the men in black came by.

Logan had kept the evidence of such happenings real close to his attention. Within the two months of being in Japan, he finally hit some solid evidence that this may be where the Yakuza gather. Most the time people would become anxious within meters of this building. Women and children that tend to wander towards the port suddenly cower away. It was then that O-Ren has become spotted within this area.

_And it's high time too,_ the assassin thought while focusing his view on Īshi's freckles. The woman was relaxing on a simple round table surrounded by other men. They were laughing about something, or so it appears. Behind them were boxes, huge boxes, all labeled with a familiar kanji that Logan knew as yen. Logan will give the woman a concession; she was pretty. O-Ren was easy to identify; out of all the men in

Suddenly something tapped him on the shoulder. _Shit, I've been caught._

Logan knew his cover was blown. There was someone behind him. The finger that tapped him on his right shoulder now grabbed him roughly. On instinct, Logan launched his elbow back. The momentum instinctively caused Logan to whip his leg in a circular sweep, knocking down his opponent. In that moment, Logan became aware of surroundings; five men, two with katana, two with handguns and one with nunchaku.

The two with swords came at Logan first. It's been sometime since Logan has dealt with swords but it doesn't mean he can't fight. A challenge is a challenge and Logan wasn't going to take this just standing by. He swung his fist towards the first swordsman's wrist, the heavy weapon clanking on the gravel of the roof as the Japanese man staggered from the surprise counter. Logan did not hesitate. He snatched the sword – a wakizashi – and immediately slashed at the second swordsman who charged. Blood splattered onto the gravel and a little onto Logan's combat boots. Smirking, he glanced at the victim for he now was missing an arm and a leg; a clean cut.

The first one came again, roaring some horrid battle cry before running again. This time Logan was able to block the attack with the small sword, and as the two staggered in an awkward whirling motion, it was then that Logan began to notice they were closer towards the edge of the roof. The American gave a frontal kick, sending the man banging against the towers of freight containers. An ugly gurgling sound erupted from the bottom.

With the swordsmen down, the two with guns came forth and Logan dropped the feudal weapon and took out his own gun. Swords are not his thing but guns certainly are. Both the Japanese men had two Ruger SR9s each, but no matter what the gun, Logan can handle this kind of fighting. A shot to the knee and a shot to the shoulder were able to stun both of them within seconds. Logan was good with guns, being one of the top marksmen within training camp, and with that being said, such a capacity to bring down those men within seconds was not hard. Even with just one gun.

The man with the nunchaku was last. Logan smirked. This was way too easy. But suddenly, Logan could hear yelling going on down below him. When Logan turned around to see what was going on, he groaned.

There stood O-Ren Īshi, and her army, the Crazy 88 along with her personal bodyguard. Her personal bodyguard looked like she was still in high school. The young girl was obviously younger than O-Ren and she obviously had a demented grin on her face. She was twirling a meteor hammer like it was a baton of some sorts.

O-Ren turned to her bodyguard, and said bold and clearly, "Gogo-san, itte kudasai."

Logan groaned before running past the remaining moron on the roof and jumping down onto the other side of the freight containers and into the shadows. The sounds of footsteps were thudding on the concrete and on the iron freight containers. Before anyone could see him, Logan already had absconded into a container. He beeped for backup, setting up the emergency signal on his communicator. He was pissed, more at himself than he was at O-Ren. He left behind that sniper rifle. Logan wasn't worried about the gun being covered in fingerprints (some people worried about those things but Logan was careful; he wore gloves) but that gun was a gift from his mentor. Logan cannot go back for it. Gustavo and Kelly would see that going back for something as a gun would be highly, if not indefinitely counterproductive.

_It's time for a backup plan._

– **Present Day, Palmwoods Hospital, Tall Oaks, MD – 9:14PM June 29****th****, 2013 – **

Logan remembers the days he used to work for the CIA. They were long gone. Sometimes forgotten, sometimes remembered. Logan holds those memories in his head because they led him to where he is now. All the joyful times, all the successful times, all of the sorrows and the mistakes and the lies, they have all followed Logan and then guided him to where he is now. The United States Government thinks Logan's dead. They think he's dead, not because of what went wrong some time ago in Tokyo, but a different mission caused him to fake his death, coerced even. He does not like remembering _that_ mission, but does he still recall the incident? Yes.

The brunette still dwelled in espionage work. Logan likes to keep his motives unknown; just the same as those who employ him. After all, it's better to do what's asked of you instead of question why. At least, that's how Logan sees it. Right now he was working with some company with the alias of "The Family".

He has to be careful; Logan is well aware that Kelly Wainwright, his past Field Operation Support operative, is still searching him. She was responsible for him, being the FOS who assigned him that last mission before vanishing. When you die, you stay dead. Faking one's death has some drastic consequences. If he is found, he could go to jail, or worse. Already Logan has committed some atrocious actions in terms of faking his death (like selling out Intel on certain people from the CIA and performing a few assassinations without legal approval). He's managed to evade discovery so far. He's not going down anytime soon.

The Palmwoods Hospital was always busy; there were nurses nearly everywhere on the campus, their first aid kits and crash-carts not too far away. The lights at the facility never turn off; they remain on just like the other buildings within Tall Oaks, Maryland, like sickly luminescent lanterns, waiting to guide the souls somewhere in the unknown. The city of Tall Oaks seems to be a busy place; it has been established not that long ago, give or take about five maybe six decades ago the small town blossomed into a your typical suburbia. Only one skyscraper can truly touch the sky, their radio antenna bleeping a baneful red light. Three malls, two hospitals, numerous amounts of bars and restaurants, a subway that leads to other cities in the state of Maryland and many renowned business offices were here. In other portions of the city, the sight of college students going in and out of clubs, cafes and museums are a commonplace thing, even at the present time. It was nearly morning and the streets near the Palmwoods Hospital were active, ambulances rushing all over the place. Word got out that a string of bizarre attacks on people have been going on within the last few days, but to Logan it is no surprise. Those attacks are a part of his mission – he was to collect data.

The last time Logan had stepped foot into a hospital has been even longer than his days in the CIA. During that time, he was merely an intern. Day in and day out, surgery after surgery, patient after patient, the life he had was glamorous. Emphasize on the word _was_. Logan liked helping people and he loved the surgeries he helped participate in, but of course fate has a sick and twisted way of screwing shit up.

It was long ago, but Logan ended his internship because of one brief moment of Florence Nightingale effect. And it also had cost him the life of someone he loved. That is something he definitely does not like dealing with. He spoke no word of it, just accepting his forced resignation on the following day after the failed surgery. But here is the brunette now, walking into his brand new office, under a different guise, with credentials, looking busy like everyone else. The white doctor's coat trailed with the small breeze that circulated the sterile air in the hallway. Hallways were scrubbed down with unreasonably reasonable amounts of disinfectant. Hand sanitizer dispensers hung from the wall every couple of feet away from a nursing station. A constant beeping of EKGs was apparent. There were no night lights because the suspended lights were perfectly bright. Every now and again, by timing between 40 to 50 minutes, patients were moved. They either came into a room for resting or they came out to be operated on. Patients all had the same expressions, that Logan remembers clearly; not one patient ever walked in like they neither were fine, nor did they ever leave perfectly fine; sometimes, they just don't leave. The nurses did not look him in the eyes, too busy with other things to pay him mind. Within the attaché case he had, there were a few medical documents on some patients, three magazines of 5.7x28mm bullets, each with 20 rounds and a FN Five-seveN. The Five-seveN was not exactly his standard weapon; if he were to choose, he'd prefer sniper rifles, but the handgun can do. Logan is an excellent marksman; a silly setback such as a handgun cannot make him any less than what he is now. Logan can complete his mission. The weapons are for personal defense detail; in case if things go wary. The items shook heavily. Logan's communicator was beeping but he could not take it out before the other hospital staff; even something as minute like an unusual phone can draw too much attention – one can never be too cautious, after all – but now that he was behind closed doors, it's safe to open up the phone.

A small bar-like device came out of the attaché case. With a right triangular base, it was an unusual device; it had a hinge on it and absolutely no buttons anywhere; the object had only three pieces of stainless steel and the rest some type of durable glass. It was glowing, but through and through, it was absolutely transparent. If it were not for the bright blue light that it had cast, one would assume that it was a fancy but peculiarly light paperweight. Logan held it, reading the name that popped up. _Mercedes _– Logan groaned to himself. He disliked the woman, being his current FOS operative but he dealt with her because all information coming from her led to what Logan desired. One missed call can possibly end his life on occasions so Logan knew and knew well not to ignore the beeping for long. The short man pressed his fingers against the back of the triangular formation and the device snapped shut like a clamshell, forming a perfect cube. It was then that Mercedes' face appeared.

"Hello Agent Mitchell."

"Hello Mercedes." The blonde woman greeted disdainfully. She wore an elitist demeanor with well composed mannerism that can come off as intimidating. Under years and years of gathering information globally, Mercedes Griffin is capable, strong with an omniscient presence above all people who work under her. Logan did not like her, and Mercedes did not like him, or anyone else for that matter (quite frankly, Mercedes had a sizable portion of Logan's background and if provoked into doing so, she can turn Logan back over to the US Government if she pleases; another reason why he dislikes the woman), but they worked well as a team.

"I see that you have been well situated in the hospital?"

"Affirmative; I shall be gathering data soon. The outbreak should reach its peak."

"Good; take caution, authorities have been on the edge with the recent string of events and the CIA, the FBI and the National Army might be deployed to assist them considering that the evidence that officials have found so far have been inconsistent with any serial killer asides from the bizarre fashion that they appear in. They suspect it might be a bio attack."

"Copy that."

"You remember what your mission is, yes?"

"I am to gather data on the BOWs that have been causing the attacks within the city. Then I am to travel to city hall, destroy the evidence that those officials have found that can possibly link The Family to the bioterrorism attack including the second underground laboratory, gather a sample of the virus and then run. The whole point of this mission to is to collect data and make sure that The Family cannot be blamed for anything due to National Security Advisor and The Family's head Derek C. Simmons' plan, which already has ultimately been determined to fail. Is there anything else Mercedes?"

"Yeah; don't give me attitude if you want to live."

"Sorry."

"Good luck with your mission. You should take care as those BOWs can be quite capricious and rather…ravenous. Over and out."

The device stopped glowing as brightly as it had earlier when the face appeared on the cube. At times, the spy had considered destroying the communicator and plotting to go somewhere far away and simply be a new person. But Logan was too deep within this life; he had nowhere else to go really. With all the talents, the gifts, the rewards that being a spy have offered him, Logan cannot seem to escape this life, no matter how much he longed to do so. He snapped the phone shut and grabbed his gun after changing his outfit.

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– **City Hall, Tall Oaks, MD– 9:24 PM June 29****th****, 2013 – (James Diamond III's POV)**

James Diamond III was tired. No, tired was more of an understatement; James as exhausted. He was sick of being grounded. Ok, so what if he deserved it for being caught sleeping with yet _another_ girl, but this is ridiculous; James does not like being monitored all the time. In this town, there were some criminal issues. Of course James knew there was a problem but to the extent that he needs a bodyguard constantly at his side? That is purely ridiculous, to the mayor's son at least.

After managing to ditch the guard at home, James gotten to city hall on his own, his car nearly out of gas. It was a long drive, taking nearly an hour or so to reach where his father works. James hates the man; he hates him with a great passion that if measured in heat, it could incinerate galaxies afar. He hated the man for yanking him away from his mother. He hated the man for taking away a decent portion of his childhood. And he hates the man for ultimately, not telling him when that sometime ago, his mother died. James could go on and on and on about all the things wrong that his father has done but James simply dealt with it, despite all of his resisting attempts (including running away, trying to go to jail, and destroying his home).

City hall was a beautiful building, its style based on Austrian architecture, the building itself quite squared and simplistic in minimalism. The window panes were huge and crystalloid, beautiful and empty of abstract designs. The building was modeled this way after a fire had previously destroyed the old city hall. That one was a Victorian style entity, but now it is only a record in paperwork. Some people missed that building, often citing that a better mayor once worked there. Not that James took that personally.

Inside were simple portraits of past mayors and the surrounding areas like the beach and the forests near Tall Oaks. One of the most peculiar pictures that often got James' attention was the portrait of the "Four Seasons," as it is titled. It was peculiar as it stretches around the main hallway; the gigantic mural-like painting is about six or so meters and it is divided into four sections, but the seasons are not what one would expect. It starts off with small plants sprouting out of the ground and baby animals appearing behind the forests with a spring-filled aura within the first section. It appeared as though it were the beginning of all things. It was simplistic and mostly gentle shades of green and brown. The second section begins with more plants and animals except they seem to be maturing, and people also begin appearing; some youthful, some adolescent, some towards adult hood. The second part was colorful yet earthly, solid shades of green and browns and even heavy blues and yellows were thrown in. In third, the animals and people are now full grown adults but the forest is a mixture between peace and tragedy – half of the section appears as though it were blossoming in pink and blooming, but then it transcends into a morbid red color and flames were painted everywhere with a small faint silhouette of death hidden among the trees like a tragic horrendous autumn. The final section is smothered in grey and black and all the animals, all the plants, all the people, have died. Skeletal remains and ash were present, the trees portrayed in dry decay and the skies bleak and melancholic. This mural was always the first thing that James sees walking in. Almost every painting and form of artwork within the building looked relatively normal except this one. Why this was placed on the wall closes to the entrance is beyond James. With the boredom he felt, James decided to walk towards the small plaque.

"With careful eyes, the four seasons come faster than the individual. The spring is simple, the summer maturing then fall into a tragic folly. Appreciate each season before the final winter occurs." James read aloud. It was the description beneath the title. "How creepy…"

Leaving behind the painting James went off to search for his dad. The first door on his right led to an L-shaped hallway with three rooms in between before leading down to the underground police department. It was a dark hallway and usually an officer might come when someone is arrested. Within the jail below were fifteen cells. They were not true jail cells for they only were meant to detain people until transferred to a more formal jail. James remembers that it is a scary place down there, considering all the people who go in and out. The teen feels sorry for the night guard who has to deal with them. James doesn't remember where exactly his father's office is; rarely does he ever go to that room because he normally waits in the lobby. The hallway was a long one. Door number one was the only room with a light on. James was curious as to who might be inside. The tall brunette knocked on the door.

"Hello?" said a recognizable voice.

James opened the door immediately. "Kendall! I didn't know you'd be here!"

There stood Kendall Knight, papers in his hand. This might have been the security room. The blonde was one of James' closes friends. He is currently doing an internship at city hall as a security guard. Sometime ago Kendall had been James's guard but Kendall needed multiple experiences, forcing his job as security to go to city hall. Kendall was a few years older than James, graduating high school when James had just entered the eighth grade. After sometime, the blonde became James' guard, being a decent shooter and well trained in some martial arts. Kendall was not the perfect guard, but he was good and to James, that was a qualified reason to place his life in Kendall's hands.

"Hey James, isn't it a little late here?"

"Ummm…yeah."

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't Jett be with you?"

"He was…but I snuck out when he wasn't looking. Dad did not come home; have you seen him?"

Kendall looked confused; some time ago, Mayor Diamond mentioned he'd be leaving and asked if Kendall would be alright doing nightshift. Of course Kendall said yes. He did not like being the idea of doing nightshift since he likes sleep but he does not mind doing it; Mayor Diamond has always treated him as though he were his own son.

"He said he was leaving about two hours ago, I think. I did not hear the main entrance open though. Need help finding him?"

"Yeah, I'm a little worried."

"Ok, c'mon."

Sometimes, James looks at Kendall in a different light. He does not see a friend who makes fun of his own narcissism or a friend who would stay up late at night playing video games with or a friend who he made stupid jokes with. Sometimes, James saw a really handsome boy in Kendall. The tall brunette does not know when; sometimes he just blames puberty and other times he blames the lame women that he has been with. Yet he still holds his feelings, not feeling any of it fade. Kendall was awkward looking, with that quirky smile of his and those abnormally bushy eyebrows and how he makes these funny pouts and at times James questioned himself, asking why of all people, he found the awkwardness of such a boy like Kendall attractive. But James does, and because he does find that awkwardness, he has to be smart about this predicament. He does not pursue the feelings he has for Kendall. James still sees Kendall as his friend, his _best_ friend and for that cause, James must force himself to dilute all the feelings he holds with morality. He can't afford to lose Kendall.

It is important to James, through the heartaches he has felt before, to place friendship above the pursuit of infatuation. And maybe one day he'll be rewarded for such morality as that.

The two went back to the main lobby. Something was not right though. The lights flickered for a few minutes, and suddenly, absolute darkness had encroached all around them. James did not like the dark, but Kendall was there with him. He was safe with Kendall. A barely audible hum had returned and some lights came on again but not all of them. Puny beacons were emitting from the small lights that were mounted within the wall like the other white tiles and asides from that only one of the glass chandeliers from the upper floor above them were glowing. Asides from the computer from the directory desk in the middle of the lobby, it was dark.

Kendall ran to the computer and James followed. Peaking over the blonde's shoulders, James saw that the front entrance of city hall had been locked.

"Kendall, what's going on…?"

"I'm not too sure."

They wanted to check the front door because the computer had prompted them do so. The door was locked shut, and jamming his keys in, Kendall not only had failed to open the door, he broke the key. Spending a moment to remove the broken key and collecting the remaining ones, Kendall shrugged and James did not like that sign. In the corner of James' eyes, he saw a small red spot on the ground. It was towards the west side of the building, and it led to what James believed was the appointment room.

James walked sluggishly towards it, hoping it might be paint or something. But it wasn't; the offensive, stock odor of blood had whiffed James' nose. Kendall just stared at the small thing on the floor.

"James, get behind me."

James nodded without defiance, and Kendall slowly began to turn the nob on the door. Kendall removed his gun from its holster. After briefly checking the safety, Kendall immediately shoved the door forward. Nothing was in the room except a trail of more blood.

There was much more.

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Guilt…rattling me…but I finally got this done. I hope you like :)  
Critic and review please! I included some information at the bottom if you needed clarification.  
Chrissy.

**Notes**

**- Yen is Japanese currency.  
- Kameyama, Matsusaka, Okazaki and Numazu are cities in Japan.  
- H&K PSG1 is a precision rifle.  
- Ruger SR9s are handguns.  
- Gogo, O-Ren Īshi and the Crazy 88 are references to the Kill Bill series.  
- "Gogo, itte kudasai," = Gogo, please go.  
- The bizarre cellphone is the first reference to Resident Evil 6 (you can search up Ada Wong RE6 to clarify what the phone looks like).  
- Tall Oaks, Derek C. Simmons and The Family are further references to RE6.  
**


	2. A Stripper and a Guard

**Take Care - Big Time Rush Fanfic by fckyeahcc**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters, the show or anything, nor is this based on any of the singers' real life. I am not responsible for you being disgusted with slash and/or homosexual pairings.

**Summary:** If the dead were meant to stay dead, why is it that tonight, they have come back alive? Jagan, Kenlos, AU.

**Author's Note:** Ahhh two reviews. They are so nice! Thank you. I felt that there may need to be some clarification as mentioned; Logan had once worked for the CIA sometime in the past. He now works as a spy for The Family which is an organization in the current RE game. What Logan supposedly was doing was to monitor the activity of the Yakuza (the Japanese mafia) and if the leader was found assassinate them but clearly that went wrong. He now is posing as a doctor and is preparing to collect data for a bioterrorism attack, as stated in the first chapter. James is the mayor's son. He had always noticed the odd nature of the portrait known as The Four Seasons and it'll come back again later.

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_**Chapter 2 – A Stripper and a Guard**_

– **La Coachella Brothel, Tall Oaks, MD – 10:01 PM June 29****th****, 2013 – (Carlos Pena Jr.'s POV)**

The pole was cold and familiar in the distance from the dressing room. Margaritas and sake wafted the air like aging perfume. Carlos Pena was getting ready, and Andre had just walked off the stage. Catcalls and hooting called for the African-American man. Carlos just shivered; how Andre is ok with yanking away his clothes without some form of consciousness is beyond the Latino. Carlos has been here for almost two years and he still quakes at the idea of people seeing his genitals. Tonight was Sinful Saturday, and all the male strippers were out while the women tended the guest with drinks. Carlos was about to go up soon, and the firefighter get up was both sexless and clichéd.

Carlos was ashamed of his job. Carlos is a loving person, but beyond anything, he absolutely loathed this job. His father would be ashamed of what Carlos is doing. But Carlos was desperate; he was new to town, barely had any cash or friends, too prideful to ask for assistance and he was forced to go from being a full time student at Ivy University to part time (and that's a step down considering how prestigious the school truly is). He did what was necessary for him. And then, by some awkward stroke of luck, Carlos was drawn into employment at La Coachella. All those years of gymnastics and cheerleading paid off somewhat here.

The Latino hated his job, but he needed it. It gave him some friends, and now he makes $3,750 a month. It covers the tiny ghetto apartment he owns, his dog, the data he uses on his iPhone and the bills that school charges him. The only thing that Carlos is now grateful for is that he no longer has to worry about money and until he can get his degree in interior design, he has some form of job security. His social life was strictly composed of his coworkers, but he did not mind. It was better than life back in his hometown of Minnesota where he was one of ten Latinos within a school of 2,000 students.

He was afraid to go back home, afraid to face his family that he had cut off without any formal departure. Carlos was estranged from them during his final years of high school and to be accepted graciously into a school like Ivy University, it got him away quickly and it got him far.

"Carlos," Tori called out. Tonight she was the coordination manager.

"Yes Tori?" Carlos shouted playfully. Not many of the staff at Coachella got along with Carlos; he was nice but he tended to get one people's nerves. Tori were one of the few who actually liked him.

"Here's tonight's move roster; Jade had set up this new system where each dancer has to do different dances each time they go on stage so it doesn't look like the same moves are being repeated."

"Oh c'mon, really now?"

"Don't blame me; blame her!"

"Fine, whatever. What am I doing tonight?"

"You'll be doing the Chopper, the Angel and the Gemini."

"Why does Jade hate me?!"

"She…well…ok yeah, she hates you. Sorry Carlos."

The raven-haired boy scowled at the paper with the lousy diagrams on it. He knew those tricks. They were not hard. They were, however, the ones that Carlos hates performing, especially in front of big crowds. And tonight being a Saturday and the brothel full of men and women waiting for a spectacular show, there was nothing he could do. The show must go on, as they say in theatre. Carlos put on his best smile and went out.

When he finished, Carlos put on his bartender outfit back on – had already completed his four part strips, he was allowed to go back to the bar. The dressy waistcoat hugged him perfectly on top of the button-up shirt. His hips went com consisting of a red speedo to black slacks. The leather shoes were worn down but they were comfortable. Carlos just finished hooking the small chain of his necklace behind him and the small gold cross had fit neatly on his skin. He felt more covered up – a relieving feeling – and was ready to do something a little more dignified. Stepping out of the dressing room, the short boy made his way towards Tori, asking what needs to be done.

Before the tan-skinned girl could make an order, a girl made a scream. The two turned around to see Cat spazzing out while a patron was bleeding on the ground. He looked to be about an average patron, nearing his early 40s. His hair was solid black and he wore what could have been an Armani business attire if it were not for the blood spewing out of his neck like a malfunctioning water fountain. Another patron was a nurse and luckily, seeing the seen, helped by trying to stop this man's bleeding. The lighting made it hard for Carlos to see how bad this man was hurt but it was obvious he was bleeding at his neck. To Carlos, it was not much a surprise that another patron had been shanked. They were in the more ghetto parts of Tall Oaks, and Ivy was practically an hour away which means that most of the shady people were on this side of town. They just have to follow a procedure and hope that none of the other costumers have noticed anything until help arrives.

"Cat, what happened?"

"I don't know, I don't know, I don't know," wailed the redhead, "one moment he looked fine and then suddenly he fell to the ground when I asked him if he liked ponies and rainbows! I didn't do anything, I swear!"

Carlos took the shocked girl to the side, and Tori dialed for 911. Andre came by later and helped the nurse move the man towards the payphones near the bar and away from other guests.

Another scream was heard, and both Tori and Carlos assumed it was Cat except it wasn't cat – who could it have been then? – they all had looked around and to their horror they found the source of the screaming. Carlos could not believe it. He glanced at the others; the same priceless and stunning reactions had befallen Tori, Cat and Andre's faces. The nurse was bleeding profusely, and the man, the one who was dumping, gushing, spewing, squirting out the crimson fluid, was now bathing that nurse as he _chewed at her neck_. And it was not a mere nibble or a solid bite like Dracula in Transylvania; no, it was a mechanical, harsh bite that tore away flesh, slicing her jugular vein as the skin began to be swallowed. The lighting gave away the man; his clothes were raggedy, stains of brown and red skittishly painted on the once white suit. The man got up with a staggering motion. It seemed no different than any other drunkard that had made their way in here except this man was injured yet he had killed another person. Cat had fainted.

It's a mystery to Carlos, how a man like this had gotten into the brothel, but he must leave _immediately_.

"Oh my God!" Tori whispered in sheer horror. Carlos was now scared shitless but something had to be done. There was a gun behind the bar. The Latino hopped over the counter, knocking a few glasses over, searching for it.

_Aha! Here it is!_ Carlos said in his head delightfully. Looks like he gets to be the superhero for the day! The Mossberg HS12 fit nicely in Carlos' hands. It was a break-open over-under shotgun. Two boxes of shells were now on the counter as Carlos ran and aimed his gun at the man.

"Freeze!" Carlos yelled. Normally, no one would take Carlos seriously; he was too childish. Even when he used to pretend playing cops and robbers, no one listened to him when he shouted freeze as a child. Now he was an adult, and this man was not stopping. His hands probed the air, fingers curling and uncurling, pulling at the empty space between his fingers. The stank of road kill and rotting fruit had smacked Carlos in the face. It was a putrid stench, worse than skunk spray. It was horrendous.

The man did not stop and without hesitating, Carlos pulled the trigger. Hundreds of pellets sprayed out of the gun and the force sent a harsh wind, sending the man backwards. There was a mild spray of blood and Carlos was sure the man was down. Tori and Andre were in full shock, standing idly with knees locked. Cat still remained on the ground. It suddenly fazed Carlos that he _actually _shot the man. Remorse swallowed him whole and the other patrons had heard the gun shot.

All hell broke loose.

Men and women ran screaming from the shots. Even the patrons in the private booths had overheard the commotion and stampeded out like a herd of wildebeest. The door to the brothel was slammed open by the masses and suddenly tremendous waves of crashing could be heard in the streets. Carlos went to the door when all the people had left, leaving only behind the four of them and the two corpses. The streets were glowing fire, cars piling up on top of one another with wild abandon. Skies were tainted in pillars of smoke and ash. All the denizens were terrorized, running here and there, screaming, screaming without control, screaming like the Four Horsemen have finally arrived, screaming until their voices gave out amongst the savage chaos that had besieged the street. There were people eating people. Full on, eating away, pouncing on people the same way a puma will pounce on its prey; people were dying before Carlos' eyes, they were dying and the one thing that Carlos could think of was that there were people eating people.

Those people eating people…they were zombies.

Carlos slammed the door shut.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God," Carlos repeatedly murmured, shocked at the horrifying sight. He couldn't hear Tori or Andre; he just ran to the emergency shutter switch, sending all the windows blocked with steel.

"Carlos, what's going on outside?" Tori questioned. She was shaking, and like Carlos, was aware that something was amiss, but unlike Carlos, she did not know what was beyond the whorehouse's door.

"Oh my G-god, they're eating people! They are eating the _fucking _people! What do we do?" Carlos was babbling; he always does that when panicking and Tori caught the gist of that when the Latino no longer was making any sense. She slapped him silent, waiting for the oxygen from the hyperventilating to finally return.

"I had just killed a man and there are zombies outside! Oh dear God, there are zombies outside!" Carlos exploded, eyes bursting with tears at the sheer terror he had just witnessed. Tori was baffled. Andre ran up the stairs, and then returned. He nodded in confirming Carlos' words. The sawn-off part where the stock had bit at Carlos' hand when he clenched his grip on the shotgun. He was scared shitless.

Suddenly, in the back parts of the brothel, where the supply room and the back alley entrance lay, came some knocking.

"Let us in! Someone, anyone, please!"

"It's Liam!" Tori affirmed. She was going to need help getting them in. Carlos, who was still in the middle of trying to recover from all the rush and shock, was yanked into the back.

"Carlos, you're going to need to cover me. We have to get them."

"But Tori, what if zombies come in?!"

"There's no times for what-ifs, Liam needs our help!"

She was right. Carlos was terrified, but Liam needs their help. The tall girl with the lovely cheekbones held the handle to the door, already unlocking it. They counted to three. And when three came around, the door swung open and Liam and Zayn tumbled in, while zombies were clawing at the door. Tori tackled the door but that could only do so much. Carlos scooted close enough to aim the gun outside without shooting Tori and with a pull of the trigger, was able to get the door shut. Tori had then backed Carlos up before slamming one of the supply shelves down, toppling against the door in hopes of being a barricade.

Liam and Zayn were hurt and they were hurt badly. Liam was dizzy, both of his arms bloody but rather torn in scratches than in bite marks. Zayn was different; his was covered in a multitude of bite marks, his clothes donned in holes and blood. They both were teetering in and out of consciousness. Carlos did not know what to do. He absolutely did not know what to do.

What he was supposed to do was make alcoholic beverages for random men and women; what he was supposed to was strip off his clothing, not batting an eyelash at a single patron unless they wave cash before you; what he was supposed to do was go to school, get his college degree in interior designing, leave the stripping industry and forget everything about Tall Oaks and never speak to his family again because they did not like the idea of being gay. Those were all the things that Carlos was supposed to do.

Instead, here was, three people unconscious before his feet, two people dead at the front of the club, Tori struggling to compose herself and Andre going mute with terror. None of this was supposed to happen but it was happening, it was clearly happening, it was happening and he cannot stop it. Carlos was simply wrapped up amongst the horror of the night.

* * *

– **City Hall, Tall Oaks, MD**** – 10:37 PM June 29th, 2013 – (Kendall Schmidt's POV)**

_Sheisse!_ Cursed Kendall. Kendall was not a doctor and his medical information was well limited, but the trail before them seemed like a lot of blood, as though someone might have severely injured. Slowly, Kendall followed the trail, leading the duo into another hallway. The hallway was another L-shaped one, containing about five rooms. One of those rooms was an infirmary. Perhaps the person bleeding might be there. City hall does not have a nurse on night duty because not many people stay late, but the infirmary can be accessed easily. The two continued, and something inside of Kendall was tempted to snap. Kendall hated the fact he had a small horror movie rationale, a part of him kept insisting there is danger present. The blood led to the infirmary as predicted and the puddles had gotten worse. Something else mingled with the scent of iron.

It smelled a little…rotten. Kendall cannot quite place where such a smell came from; it was like a mixture of rotting meat and terrible fecal matter? It was a grotesque odor that made the hairs within the blonde guard's nose. It was acidic and nauseating. There was not just blood though. Bizarre specks of dark pulpy objects were on the floor. They were stringy and delicate looking, despite the atrocious odor arising from it. Kendall saw it and he knows it was flesh.

"Dude…is that-"

"I think it is…"

Their journey had ended at the infirmary door. The handle of the door had been coated in blood. There was a smear on the window. A maroon shadow had been casted from the handprint. James remained behind Kendall and the door was opened. The infirmary had slight inlets that formed almost the same as the security lounge, with built in bunk beds. It was a blood bath, the scent of morbidity haunting the air. Kendall's nose stung. The two moved towards the back as the blood had led them.

A man, with gashes and repulsive wounds, lay haphazardly on the ground. The blood had coagulated into a sick red that nearly boarded the shades of black. He had once what could have been brown hair except it was too a skewed and darkened with the blood that it was now a black mess. There was black everywhere on the man. His arms and legs were decorated with what seems to be bite marks. The clothes were torn roughly at, and Kendall could only fathom what violation this man might have faced. His name tag was missing. His gun was not present yet he wore a holster on his waist. The spots of bare skin had deep holes gnawed into them, with chunks of flesh gone. What had remained worse than the holes on the body were the conditions of the man's face. The cheek bones were present with a blunt, daunting ugliness that could be scaring to one's mind, and those lips, they were shredded, sliced even, as though a cheese grater or a paper shredder had been smashed against the man's mouth, blade first. Bones can be seen. They appeared scratched even by the teeth that had dug towards them. Kendall wanted to freak out because the person before him was not simply beaten senselessly but was killed, killed without any form of mercy whatsoever. It looks as though either a rabid animal had come by or some cannibalistic maniac was set loose. Whatever the case maybe, Kendall had to respond, and had to respond now.

"James, get the first aid kit." Kendall knelt down, letting his gun be forgotten momentarily as he looked for any spots that had not been ruined by the attacker.

"But Kendall, there's too much-"

"Get the first aid kit." It no longer was a request but a grainy and stern demand that shook James slightly.

Kendall felt for a pulse. He checked the wrist and the neck, searching desperately. There was nothing. The blonde bodyguard had then moved to the man's chest, pressing hard and began CPR. Press, press, press, snap, press, press and press again. The breaking of cartilage and what might have been the xiphoid process caused Kendall to flinch for a moment but he continued anyways. There has to be some way to save him.

But there wasn't. The man was dead. James stood on the side with the first aid kit, knowing well enough that there simply was no way the man could have survived with all the blood that was everywhere.

"Kendall…we can't help him."

Kendall didn't like it, but James was right (and normally James isn't right but now is not the time). The shorter of the two got up and walked towards the sink to wash his hands. The facet had been turned and the rush of hot water came about.

Just then, a groan was heard. Kendall rinsed the soap off hastily and turned to find the man getting up. The brittle, aching sound of fragile bones crackling. The look of undefined horror had flooded both of them. Was it not a moment ago that the man had been declared dead? But he was composing himself, yanking up that raggedy body up. Kendall had then remembered that the gun laid right there on the floor, next to the man.

The dead man had then stood up right, and his face, his lifeless, sunken face, had groaned. Arms shot out like probes, searching the same way a blind man can walk. Yet this man should not be walking. He should not have even been able to stand up right. But he did. And the first thing he did was pounce on James.

Dead or not, hurt or not, bleeding or not, Kendall did not hesitate; he ran up and throttled the man, gripping his arm with dire strength that even caught James off guard and threw the injured man to the ground. _It _flew a couple of feet away from the two of them, slumping against the wall by a broken mirror. James was breathless. Kendall was breathless. The bleeding mess away from them was not.

"James, are you alri-"

It sunk into Kendall's head that whatever this man is, he is no longer human. The injuries have proven it. Whatever he is to be called, he got back up again. Kendall had then grabbed his gun, steadying the weapon at _it_.

"Freeze!"

Kendall's shout was ineffective; the man took a step. His jaws gnawed against like a hungry bear trap, snapping mechanically with the vivid odor of death surging out of the opening.

"Gaahh…"

"Don't move!"

It stepped again. The adrenaline was pumping violently in the two boys that if possible, it could be heard crashing against their veins. The monster's raggedy gaited towards them. Its head was slung forward, teeth clicking with a one-beat tone, waiting to sink into something, or someone else for that matter. James was behind Kendall, and despite being taller and almost the same size in muscle, never had he been so petrified in a situation. The gun's safety was now pressed off. Kendall's aim was trained on the man's sternum or at least the gash where parts of it should be.

"Ahhh…"

"I'll shoot you!"

The monster lunged forward again and the trigger was pulled. Dark red fluid splashed onto the floor as the man was sent backwards once more. It did not stir. No twitching, nor was there a sign of bleeding other than the initial splattered that cascaded amongst the infirmary's wall.

"James, are you alright? Did he touch you?"

James couldn't answer. The brunette's eyes were widened like saucers waiting to break from mere expansion. Kendall turned around, and saw the source of discord. The _zombie_ was pulling itself up! The two were baffled and Kendall held up his gun again. The monster stepped forward for nearly the fourth time. Kendall shook off the surprise and fired again. Two bullets entered the chest and a third into the frontal bone of the skull. The nauseous squishing was heard and a gurgling sound emitted from the zombie's mouth. It leaked. The zombie was leaking and blood had pooled out.

"James, let's move."

It did not take long to reach the lobby, especially with what happened with that man-zombie-thing. Sticking around the infirmary was not a good idea. The morgue was nearby. Who knows what could be lurking around?

_It was a zombie, a _fucking _zombie!_ Kendall thought._ I…I can't believe it. This has got to be some joke. A horribly gone-wrong prank. Where are those damn cameras? Is the crew from Punk'd nearby or some shit? This has to be a terrible dream. Wake up, Kendall, WAKE UP! Do something!_ His rationalizations were meaningless though, the pinching he did when James wasn't paying attention, the awkward images he conjured in his head, Kendall and his thoughts were rendered useless. Kendall knew that it was a zombie. No man should have lost that much blood, have that many cuts and bruises, be shot three times and stand up again before being shot in the head. Something was amiss. The blonde cannot place his fingers on it, but something horrendous is in the air.

The lobby was quiet, but somewhere in the distance, possible from buildings near here even, the chorus of groans could be faintly heard. Lights from the chandelier above them flickered and suddenly the duo were plunged into momentary darkness. Glowing from built in lanterns were on the floor, with a jade color shining less than a foot away. It looked sort of like a path. But Kendall had already known they were built in response towards power surges and emergency situations where lights may go out. They were not special. The only thing that was odd about those lights was that there were none underneath "The Four Seasons," leaving a huge gap. A few lights had then returned. Kendall ran to the front door and James joined him. The blonde tugged but the door would not give; it was shut tight.

It cannot be broken down easily. Sometime ago, the glass walls of the building were replaced with SR 5096, which in essence, was indestructible. They were safe to some degree. Wherever that moaning had emerged from, it cannot get in here easily. The main question is…what is inside with them?

"It's locked, isn't it?"

"Yup. Fuck."

"Great." James sighed with thick sarcasm. It was not going to help, but Kendall said nothing. They just gotta keep calm. They cannot get in easily.

"We need to find you a gun, James."

"But I don't know how to shoot."

"Then I'll teach you – simple as that. C'mon, we gotta get moving."

Another attitude-packed groan came from the taller one but they got moving. To Kendall, there was no time to freak out. Maybe in his head, fine, after all James does not have that much of a brain so it is safe to assume he cannot read minds. But back to the point – Kendall cannot afford to. If James was in danger a moment again, panic might end up killing the younger one. Kendall has to be strong. Show no emotions now, and maybe break down about it later. There, in the back of the lobby, was a service desk. It had pamphlets that included maps inside of them. The computer monitor there was turned on and the words "Emergency Power Grid Activated; Restore Power," bleeped with a monotone sound. There were three other doors asides from the one that the two had escaped from.

The room towards the west leads to the conference room section. The eastern door leads to the cafeteria. The third door to the north leads to some stairs. The previous two were locked and only the one towards the stairs was open. Exploring was a risky idea; this may result in more encounters with those _things_ but they had no other choice. There might be a reception room that Kendall can hold James in until a weapon is found because if James were to tag along, it'd be harder to protect him without first enabling him to protect himself.

"So what's the plan Kendall?"

"I'm going to place you in the upstairs reception room. It's safe there."

"Are you sure?

Kendall wasn't sure. A few minutes ago, he was sure that a gunshot can put a man down but now he is not too sure as whether or not they are safe. They proceeded up the stairs, making sure to be as quiet as they can. The creaking of each step could not help them. The stairs had led them to a hallway, and Kendall slightly remembers this area, being the Human Resources center being the first door. It was locked. The second room was also locked. There two other doors, much further down the corridor. The hall was empty and the windows were glowing faintly with the street lights sinking in.

The last door was exactly what Kendall had hoped for; the reception room. By placing James in there briefly, he can be kept safe until Kendall can find something for James to use. Unfortunately, that door was locked too. The plaque was taunting Kendall.

"Kendall?"

"What is it James?" Kendall replied with some annoyance.

"I saw a ventilation opening. Do you think I could get in there and try and crawl to the room? Maybe I can unlock it from inside."

For once James actually had a bright idea. It was not too far, and it seemed like a straight shot. Unfortunately, James couldn't fit in when Kendall gave him a boost. Kendall however, did fit in. After much reassurance, and much arguing, James convinced Kendall to go in. There simply was no other way to get to that reception room without someone to open it first and Kendall was the only one who could open it.

The blonde squeezed himself into the shaft. It was dark and the usual persistent musky scent of dust was mingling with something unusual. Kendall frowned. Wiggling forward, he began the straight path that the air shaft led. After a couple of feet, Kendall found the source of the unusual smell. There was another dead body. The bodyguard clasped his mouth shut, trying not to scream at the body. The corpse was in the same condition as the last one; torn up, bitten, covered in a viscous coat of blood and lifeless. How it ended up in this shaft, Kendall did not know but he must proceed. A few minutes later, when Kendall was near the end of the shaft, he heard a moaning sound. It did not come from the opening below, for that was the opening that led to his destination. Instead, Kendall heard moaning from behind him.

Kendall was not alone in the shaft. A thumping sound was only moments away from his two feet.

* * *

Ahhh! Finally, all four of them finally have been introduced, somewhat at least. My main intention was that they all encounter the undead and must deal with it somehow, and I hope this sounds good!

Critic and review please! Let me know if you're confused. If I am doing something that is out of character, let me know please. I dislike when others are out of character, so when I am being out of character, it helps to correct me and let me know. I like knowing when I am doing something wrong so I can improve onward. Thank you so much!

**Notes**

**- Andre, Cat and Tori are from Victorious  
- Liam and Zayn are from One Direction  
- The Mossberg HS12 is an over-under (meaning two barrels are stacked on top of each other) break-open (which is when the gun has to be snapped open to reload) shotgun with standard 12 gauge shells.**

**- La Coachella is in reference to Lightweight, the story's replacement**


	3. Desperation

**Take Care - Big Time Rush Fanfic by fckyeahcc**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters, the show or anything, nor is this based on any of the singers' real life. I am not responsible for you being disgusted with slash and/or homosexual pairings.

**Summary:** If the dead were meant to stay dead, why is it that tonight, they have come back alive? Jagan, Kenlos, AU.

**Author's Note:** Yay more reviews! **Cookie Monster Giggles**, I am so glad to have you as one of my readers! I did not think about that, but now that you mention it, that might actually be a good idea! I shall make it happen. **Lilygirl42001**, thank you for your review as well! The painting is in fact important, however, we'll find out soon enough. And I am gonna try and do my best to portray them based on their names (meaning Kendall and Carlos are more towards their real-life selves while James and Logan are more show-verse). I hope that makes sense. I am an evil, evil, sadistic boy. But I have not given up on this story. Actually, I was scripting the entire plot first before beginning to write anymore chapters, and with the addition of school getting in the way, it really was hard finding the time for writing. But I truly have not given up on this story.

* * *

_**Chapter 3 – Desperation**_

– **Palmwoods Hospital, Tall Oaks, MD – 10:37 PM June 29****th****, 2013 – (Logan Mitchell's POV)**

"The C-Virus is a manmade virus reconstructed from the mixture of the _G-Virus,_ the _Progenitor Virus_ and the _T-Veronica__Virus_. There are two known methods of infection; _direct injection of the virus into the bloodstream or inhaling it through a gas form of the virus_. The direct injection results in imperfect mutation of a monster known as the _J'avo._ Inhaling the virus kills the living organism and then reanimates the corpse, resulting in a _zombie. _However, if bitten by a reanimated corpse, a victim will succumb to the same fate as the corpse itself instead of mutating into the J'avo_._" Logan read loud. The chip was small but when plugged into his phone, all the info of that chip made it anything but.

The hospital had a few of the evidence files needed. As it turns out, one of the files Logan was meant to collect had come from a patient – a patient who worked at city hall. Her name was Phoebe Perry, as Logan recalls. Her blonde hair was now covered in clumps of flesh and blood. The right humerus suffered a compact fracture and some of the bone marrow stuck out like grounded caviar. Her blazer was now an ugly maroon, but it once had been a pretty red. Her neat teeth were shattered. She must have fallen down a flight of stairs. Logan did not care.

She was dead. And it just so happen that she had what he was looking for. The corpse had lay in a mangled position not far from the reception desk. The elevators were not running and Logan was on the north end of the hospital; closes to the direction he needed to go in – he only had four more flights of stairs to descend. The doctor attire had been abandoned long ago for now he wore a fitted dark grey long sleeve that had a V-neck. The sleeves were pulled up to the middle of his forearm. His skinny jeans were an absolute black and a sleek holster was fitted on his right leg. A defense knife was lower to his left boot. The simple slacks and belt had lay among the ruins of his former office and the dress belt had been replaced with a utility one, which held a small first aid kit, some pain killers and three magazine and grappling hook on the side of it. He can't carry much on him. Logan has an additional accessory hooks to carry a spare gun but otherwise, he is limited.

Logan looked back at the corpse of Phoebe. The bullets from the Five-seveN pierced her like a hole puncher. Behind her skull were debris composed of occipital bone flakes and gray matter. She came back the moment Logan had stepped foot into the room.

"H-hello?"

The spy perked up, gripping his pistol. Logan had ran into some civilians but that had been hours ago. He was well convinced that the infection had spread. Intel from Mercedes had indicated that about 90% of Tall Oaks had either succumbed to infection, mutation or death. The hospital was jam-packed with corpses, the diseased-ridden dying and unarmed people; almost everyone here as far as Logan knows is dead.

But someone had called out, searching for help.

Logan briskly opened the door, finding a blonde boy, about his height, standing in front of him with a bloodied hospital gown. He was holding a bulky fire axe, the object clunking to the floor as the lad had realized he was not alone. The brunette scrutinized him and found no substantial injuries. He had seemed to be clean.

"Who are you?"

"I'm N-Niall."

"Have you been bitten?"

"No; my friends were supposed to pick me up but they never came…"

Logan nodded but then had turned right around; he had a mission – aiding civilians not only went against his objectives but would be a waste of time and effort. Logan began to walk away when the younger boy pleaded for him to help him. The younger one grabbed Logan by the wrist, and when the spy turned back, ready to strike the boy, he saw his face. The youthful expression was devastated. He was lost and scared. And his touch was warm, too warm, making Logan squirm under his skin.

He should not be helping. Ever since Logan had turned his back on the CIA and began betraying the American government, he helped no one but himself. All the people that Logan had come in contact with, they either paid him in sums of cash or paid him with their lives. But this gentle, naïve touch…Logan felt an ominous wave of energy surge through him.

Logan conceded.

"We need to find a more proper weapon. You know how to shoot a gun, right?"

"Yeah. My papa always took me shooting before he passed away."

"Good. I saw a gun somewhere in the hospital, let's go find it."

The gun was supposedly somewhere on the west side of the hospital. Logan had only gone there when he thought it was the west that he needed to be heading to. There were some police men in one of the rooms but they were dead, with gunshot wounds to the temple. It seemed to be suicidal. Logan knew that this was going to take much longer, but this boy needed his help. Logan does not recall the last time he had ever truly helped another human being.

They had to be quiet; a vast majority of the hospital had been overwhelmed with the undead. Their moaning was not subtle. Some hallways were clear while others had a few lurking around. Logan was well aware of his way around the Palmwoods Hospital and knew where to go. After shooting down an infected nurse, it was in this moment particularly that Logan had wish he had gotten a suppressor for the Five-seveN. That nurse was part of a pack.

Logan and Niall were lost in the western side of the medical center; close to the radiology wing and trudging of many footsteps were approaching them. Niall was just about to start screaming when Logan had yanked the teenager into another room and gagged the pale boy's lips with his gloved hands.

"You need to be silent. Got it?"

Niall nodded eagerly, pupils wide nervously. Logan released his hand. There were no signs of zombies when they entered the hallway again, but there signs of cluttering being stepped on and a trail of bloody feet can be seen. The few they had ran into were alone, most unaware of their own surroundings even. As it appeared, Niall was able to use that axe with ease. Logan did not need to worry so much about ammo; as it turns out, physical fighting can take them down easily. With Niall by him though, Logan is forced to resort towards using the environment such as the walls to attack zombies, hitting them against the structures. He cannot reveal that he knows more than just marksmanship. Logan even has to bring his shooting skills down to an amateur level so Niall does not become suspicious of him.

He can help some civilians but Logan must keep his cover; he cannot be discovered easily. They still were somewhere among the radiology wing, scavenging for the gun that Logan had seen. The duo had then heard a sharp ring. An elevator was rising up, the weight of something rising with it. Neither of them had pressed the button.

Moaning was emanating from the floor.

"Get ready."

There was nowhere to hide for they were in a waiting area. Any room was somewhere down in the dark distance of the surrounding corridors but luckily, they are in a spacious area, with chairs and benches overturned and scuffled closely to the walls. As the two began backing up, the elevator opened and in came a horde.

There were eight zombies. Two wielded 2x4 planks of wood from some unknown origin. Two more had crutches in their hands. They waved those items like weapons as they charged out. Logan and Niall stood their ground, preparing for the wave. Valiant, it was what Logan says as he watched his younger partner fight back; somewhere in the strife, the two became distant and Niall was backed into a corner. Three of the undead were blocking him off. The blonde had no more hesitation in him at this infinite moment. His swings were not precise but compensated with speed that Logan did not know one could possess while utilizing such a blunt object.

Between the agencies that Logan has worked for, most, if not all, his missions were solo projects. He rarely worked with people, asides from the few missions back in the CIA. He does not recall the last time he ever seen such valor in another person, even when they were being cornered. Already, three of the five that chased sluggishly for Logan had been put down. One of the remaining two had noticed Niall. It crouched down, ready to jump. As the corpse flew in the air, time began to slow down for both Logan and Niall. It was in that moment, when hollowed eyes, grey with death and decay came into contact with sapphire eyes, that Niall was toppled over. Logan wanted to shoot, but Niall would not keep still and if he were to shoot, he'd most likely pierce Niall. Dashing forward, he unleashed a fan kick, and now the monster was knocked off, sprawled with its neck in a haphazardly position. The motions were all too fast for both of them, Logan not realizing what he had done and Niall realizing that Logan had saved his life.

* * *

– **La Coachella Brothel, Tall Oaks, MD – 10:37 PM June 29****th****, 2013 – (Carlos Pena Jr.'s POV)**

Zayn died. He died – his eyes wide and glossy. They did not move, nor twitch or dilate. His hands suddenly gone limp in Liam's own hands and a raspy breath had been released as though eternal solace had been found. Liam could not focus his head, eyes drooping and his speech slurred, but he knew that Zayn was not ok.

The brunette shook Zayn restlessly. Liam was out of it – he couldn't tell that Zayn was dead and no one at that given moment knew how to tell the brunette. He was gone. He was gone. He was gone. By now, the bar had been somewhat barricaded, most tables stacked against the windows. Tori ushered Andre to turn on the emergency shutters in the basement. Those two disappeared into the depths of the brothel. Cat was still out, and as Carlos dragged her towards the bar, he heard something groan. He crouched, his head at eye-level with the counter and peered over.

The nurse that bled out rose from the ground. Like the man, her skin had paled to an ugly light gray and her eyes were lazy and unfazed by the surroundings. The woman's hips were rigged but the body as a whole swayed with the same equilibrium one would find standing on a ship. There was blood on her finger tips and immediately, she bit down _hard_, the phalange disappearing in her mouth.

Carlos gasped. The woman had turned around.

_Where are those shells, where are those shells!_ After grasping around the dark cupboards, he found a box of ammunition. It was by then that the woman began stumbling around the room, looking, searching, hungry for something else to gnaw into. Carlos arose, the gun held at waist level.

"Ma'am?"

She turned around. And in the brief moment, she grabbed an empty beer bottle off a table. Carlos knew that was impossible. It was already impossible that zombies were out in the streets, how is it that this woman or zombie, could pick up a bottle? But she did. The woman, whose neck wound was tremendous and still leaking the iron-scented fluid clutched the neck of the bottle.

It was then that she noticed Carlos' presence despite the unwavering stupor in her face and the bottle became airborne. Carlos ducked, captured in awe that it _threw_ the bottle at him. The shattering of the liquor bottle caused Tori and Andre to return.

"What's going on?" Tori questioned, but Carlos could not find the words; already the dead woman found another bottle. Again, the corpse chucked it and before anyone could react, Tori had been struck down. It smashed onto her shoulder, sending the brunette spiraling down onto the floor in the same shock that Carlos had been locked in. The Latino did not know what to do except for the only option he could think of; he pulled the trigger.

The dead nurse was two or three meters away and the force of the blow knocking her back like a domino. She had remained on the floor. Her skin was now spotted with holes, each squirting blood. Carlos cannot believe it. He killed another person. Another zombie. Another undead creature that _once_ had been a living person. That is not like Carlos; he does not like killing things; when he buys meat from the grocery story, he only goes to the frozen or the already packaged section instead of the actual butcher; when he was completing community service, he helped at a local animal shelter and convinced the veterinarians not to put down some animals; Carlos had never killed anything in his life up until this point in his life and all he knew was that they were dead now.

They were people. They are zombies.

"Tori, are you ok?" Andre asked, kneeling before the girl.

"Yeah…I'll be fine, I think. We need to find help."

"But how?" Andre said back, and Carlos did not think about it until now.

"The cellphone tower seems to be out…maybe one of us can go out."

Tori's plan was suicidal. It was absolutely suicidal.

"No! No, we're not going out there! Did you not see the streets? There are zombies everywhere!" Carlos screamed.

"What choice do we have? Find help or wait until those things get inside? Carlos, we need to do something."

It was silent, and that silence had hurt, but she was right…if they wait, the chances of dying increase, but if one went to go find help, maybe they might survive. Carlos does not like doing complete 180s when it comes to making up his mind. Usually, he can set himself firm for a decision but right now, as much as he does not want to go out into Tall Oaks and find someone, he has no other choice.

"I'll go." Carlos muttered.

– **Great Holly Ave, Tall Oaks, MD – 10:52 PM June 29****th****, 2013 –**

Great Holly was a straight drive to city hall. Carlos knew one person who might help him. His father. Carlos had not once asked for his father's help, especially after the way he had reacted when he found out his son had entered the sex industry. It was the sole reason that his father transferred to Tall Oaks and somehow got a job with their police department, but he, despite his efforts, had only ostracized Carlos even more so.

Yet, he was the only one who could help Carlos and his friends. The raven haired boy's car hummed moderately and a few have noticed. Gore was all over the place that would put Wes Craven's movies to shame. There were zombies everywhere, just as Carlos had stated, and a few even managed to scratch his car, chucking rocks and sticks at the vehicle but somehow, regardless of how much carnage and destruction had fallen onto the road, Carlos was nearly a quarter of the way there.

Suddenly, something hit Carlos' car, and he swerved dramatically, and before he knew it, the car tumbled onto its side. The motions were like a demented rollercoaster and he could only clutch the seat belt as he slammed somewhere against something. His head began pounding and for a moment, he felt his own blood trickle down from his head somewhere. The scent of oil had wafted him and a gust of light heat brushed the Latino's cheek. A rib might have been cracked, but Carlos crawled out of the car. He glanced into the distance as he wobbled in an effort to stand up. They were approaching.

Carlos found his gun. It was going to take a while to reach city hall this way.

* * *

– **City Hall, Tall Oaks, MD – 10:52 PM June 29th, 2013 – (Kendall Schmidt's POV)**

Kendall could hear the corpse crawling at his feet. It was not far. Groaning and shuffling were at his feet but he could not shoot. The airshafts were made of some durable steel and to shoot would to risk ricochet. The stench of death pricked Kendall's nose as it approached him and the sounds got horrendously louder. It was an astounding feat that these monstrous things had found a way into the shafts but Kendall had no time to think about how they can get in here. Right now, he had to crawl. And so he did. There was a small ventilation opening at the end of the shaft. It was a couple of yards away. A straight shot and Kendall was close.

_Just focus, get there and unlock the door and get James to safety, _thought Kendall. If James can be kept somewhere safe, that's all that mattered. But the corpse that was pursuing him had begun to kill away the idea of a safe zone here. If they can crawl into small places like this, James can't be left alone. What if Kendall had gone out, even for a minute or two, only to return to find a zombie on James? As he crawled, the idea of leaving James alone began to look less ideal. It was at this moment he began regretting leaving behind James.

He had to get out. The sooner he can return to the tall brunette, the better. Kendall crawled like his life depended on his motions and if not, as though it were James' life who also depended on it – which at that moment it did – and just when he thought he was out of danger's path, the zombie being almost seven or so yards away in the distance of the ventilation, a second corpse had appeared out of nowhere!

It clawed at the blonde's shoes, yanking him back just when he was so close to the shaft's opening. Kendall could see the room's light, even hear the soft humming from the heater's wiring in the walls leading to the room. With a harsh kick, Kendall propelled himself forward, crashing through the shaft and falling into the room.

Head in pain. Kendall's head throbbed. He had not counted on it, but he fell right onto the hard wooden floor, head knocking into the ground somewhat lightly. It still had hurt and as he clutched his head, yet another groan was heard. Staggering up, Kendall blinked a bit and what he saw urged him to back up towards the door.

The room was _full_ of corpses. A few were standing, a few were lying on the ground, twitching, and others were leaking a sordid brown liquid that had reek of a rancid sour odor. It hung thickly in the air as though cow manure had been bathed in expired milk and juice from rotting lemons.

Kendall could not breathe, and the situation was not good at all. The dead beings had not noticed him however, for they were stationary, swaying mildly as though nothing had entered the room to begin with. These were people Kendall did not know personally but had seen on the occasion as he worked here. The door behind him was partially unlocked. To his right, the desk had a ring of keys and additional key that had been separated from the rest. As quietly as he could, he pocketed the item, knowing that they may need it later. Scooting closer to the door, he searched for the locking mechanism. The lock knob was somewhere nearby and when Kendall glanced back at it briefly, it seemed to also have a key hole. As he turned the knob slowly, the unexpected happen.

The corpses that had chased Kendall through the ventilation came crashing in, the first one's skull squishing with a repulsive sound, an unearthly moan slipping out of it while the second one toppled it. The room had suddenly came to life as the zombies snarled in Kendall's direction. Immediately in the burst of sheer panic, Kendall yanked out his gun and fired.

The gun fired, nicking the first corpse barely as the bullet only blew off its ear. James heard the commotion, yelling, screaming, begging Kendall to open the door but the entrance remained shut while Kendall shot haphazardly at the monsters before him. Two of the bloody sacks of flesh collapsed after some firing became successful. Kendall, however, was still present in the danger. He was being closed in on and if it were not for the split second, he would have been attacked had the door behind him opened up.

James screamed.

Kendall disregarded the panicked sound, and slammed the door shut. But he could only do so much. Bracing himself like a loose brick wall, Kendall was shoving against the door while James was standing in shock, knees buckling in a quivering fear.

"James! Don't stand there, help me!"

James couldn't move. Eyes were so widened in terror, his hands trembled at his sides. Kendall felt bad for him. He felt absolutely terrible because James had never witnessed so much in one night. No person should ever witness what they had seen. If he could, he would do something to comfort his friend but their lives were on the line. He couldn't simply abandon the door. With his gun still clutched tightly in his hands, Kendall aimed through the shaking crack that separated the dead from the living. He fired, hoping whatever bullets he had left would knock the zombies off guard enough to close the door. Kendall knew that if he were to break the door knob, the door would automatically shut – something one of the janitors muttered to him in the past.

With the right momentum, the door was shut and giving it his best, Kendall stomped until the door knob hung lopsidedly like a man dangling from a noose; broken and useless. A clicking sound was heard and as the dead pawed at the door, it finally remained shut.

* * *

– **City Hall, Tall Oaks, MD – 11:00 PM June 29th, 2013 – (James Diamond III's POV)**

They didn't talk. They did not talk at all. A silent ambience hung awkwardly between them, characterized by footsteps; one pair stomping slightly and the other scuffling shyly. It was quite clear they both were upset. James knew Kendall was mad at him. Kendall was mad that James couldn't – _wouldn't_ – do a single thing when they were nearly killed had it not been for Kendall's breaking of the door knob.

They went back to the corridor with the two locked doors. They slumped against the walls. A moan echoed somewhere in the hallway. A slight pawing sound padded up against the door to the Human Resources office. James hung his head, eyes averted to the ground the way a puppy would look when being scolded. James was ashamed of himself. He could have helped. He could have done something. He could have prevented Kendall from being in too much danger. He could have –

"Stop that."

"Huh?"

"James, stop that, that sad look on your face."

"But…"

"James, you froze up. You panicked. It's…okay. Just, promise me you won't do that again."

James found Kendall staring at him in an unexplainable awe. He scooted closer and hugged Kendall. Kendall had always known that James doesn't hug people unless he was scared. It was something they didn't need to talk about because they both knew. James was scared. He was terrified beyond anything.

"Kendall, I don't know what's gonna happen."

"James, we gotta keep it together."

"But what if I die? Or if you die?"

"We're not going to die. We'll make it. You need to relax."

It didn't make sense to the taller boy. How could his friend be composed? James looked into Kendall's face, and while the collected smile said all was fine, his eyes didn't. It's odd, isn't it, how that cliché of the eyes being the window to the soul can reveal a lot, right? Because James saw the worry Kendall had in his green eyes. He too was scared. They got up and had head down to the lobby again. The doors were still well locked and the glass walls still seemed unscathed by any outside forces but _they_ were there.

The small courtyard outside of city hall was full of them. Kendall and James could see shifting shadows and dances of rampant flames amongst the old trees that divided the municipal building and the town of Tall Oaks. They were there, the dead searching, arms like probes again as they yearned for tender flesh, fresh flesh, living flesh to gnaw right into. Some bumped lifelessly into the glass walls. Others actually had noticed them and began banging against the glass. Some had bloodied but fully intact limbs. Others were missing some and smears of blood painted the walls much to the boys' horror.

Kendall went to the computer that beeped again. James watched, fiddling with an old typewriter that he found in the small reception desk. There next to it was a drawer.

"Kendall, have you seen this drawer?"

"No." Kendall said flatly, focusing on the computer. A couple of clicks throughout the building could now faintly be heard. They were the closes reminiscent to crickets chirping, close to a normal summer night's symphony of the natural world, a world without the walking dead. The clicking finally ceased and a happy Kendall got up. The lighting also flickered again. James pulled open the drawer.

Inside was a gun. Kendall grabbed it before James could snatch it, muttering words like "machine pistol," and "9 mm Parabellum," words that James were barely familiar with. But a gun was a gun; and James knew he would need it since Kendall already was armed. Inside the drawer were four pistol magazines, two which seemed to have taken a slight dusted gleam and small scratch marks on them.

Kendall cocked the gun and without a single warning shot at the glass wall. James jumped in surprise, a small helpless yelp coming out of him while the bullet ricocheted off the wall and projected itself into the Styrofoam ceiling off in the high rafters.

"Looks like we got lucky." Kendall muttered.

James could only nod.

* * *

I hope you enjoy this one! Gahhh, once again I am sorry. I decided to take a truly different approach on writing so I know what to write about. That had forced me to take time actually writing out a plot script instead of the chapters themselves. But now with the grand scheme that I got planned, hopefully I can update much faster now. Enjoy!

- Chrissy


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